


Too Little Too Late

by kittybenzedrine



Series: Timelines [51]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Incest, Age Difference, Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Modern Era, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Night Stands, References to Depression, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittybenzedrine/pseuds/kittybenzedrine
Summary: After an awful year full of entirely too much grief, Rachel decides to break out of her normal habit of solitude and isolation and goes out to a bar. The constant quiet has become suffocating. She thinks the noise of other people will be good for her.Rachel meets a stranger while at the bar, who makes his interest immediately clear. The stranger is older than her, finely dressed, and fairly handsome. He tells her exactly what he'd like to do to her that night, if she agrees to give him the time and come home with him.A week later, she gets to see his face again in a less than ideal way._____All pieces of the Timelines series are standalones and can be read without context.





	1. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

It's been a rough year. Really, really fucking rough. Even after moving back in with her mom, things have been too quiet for Rachel. Normally, she enjoys solitude. She's never been one for parties or hang-outs in public places. Most events hosted in high school like prom and homecoming were all foregone, even through she had offers to go to every dance starting freshman year. Hell, even sleepovers with her few friends were rare. Rachel's friends understood that she doesn't do outings. Mom understands too, never tried to force her into any social situations, excluding pushing her into dance auditions that eventually lead to Rachel's career.

But, it's been a rough fucking year. Though she's a rather unfeeling creature, she's no stranger to depression and the last thing she needs right now is solitude. She hasn't been able to stand her apartment. It's hardly more than a shoebox, but the quiet makes it feel cavernous. The other side of the bed now unoccupied, the empty crib in the corner with little stuffed animals surrounding the bars. She can't bear it. Even moving back in with her mom hasn't helped much. All the has to do there is sit alone in her old bedroom, staring at posters and pictures from when she was in middle school. Nothing but her thoughts to occupy her time there. She knows what depression is. What she's got going on right now isn't depression, however. It's a whole new monster and one she'd like to spend the least amount of time with. So this should help. She takes a long swig of whatever girly drink the bartender made, focusing back in.

The bar is loud. Flat out _loud_. It's not some dive bar along a long line of other shitty bars, full of smoke and trashy rednecks. It's a pretty decent place actually. Not an upscale black-tie kind of place, more like somewhere neutral you'd meet up at on a first date. But a bar's a bar, and it's a Friday night. Everyone's out in droves to drink and dance and abuse the bar's pool tables. The music has only been getting louder as more people trickle in. That's fine with Rachel for once. Loud makes for a good distraction. The frozen drink in her hand is a good distraction too, with its red and gold swirls and overly sweet taste.

Another distraction comes in the form of someone seating themself in the stool directly to her left shortly before eleven. The entire bar top is empty, save for her and this stranger. So either the man next to her really particularly enjoys the exact spot he's just seated himself at, or Rachel's about to have company that she didn't ask for. She glances at him. He's looking at her, body turned just slightly towards her. Rachel gives him a curt nod of greeting and turns back to her drink before she can see if he'll return the gesture.

"That look interesting," he says, loosely motioning to her glass with two fingers. "What is it?"

Rachel glances his way again, idly swirling the drink. "Don't know. I don't know what's in most of these drinks. I asked the bartender for something sweet and he provided." She takes a sip, rolls it on her tongue, then relays to him that it tastes mostly of pineapple and cherry. He gives a pleased hum, then glances up at the hand-written menu plastered on the wall above the shelves of alcohol.

Rachel gives him an obligatory once-over, noting that the stranger is dressed _way_ too nicely for this bar. Sports coat, nice button-up. His sleeve rode up when he motioned at her drink, briefly showing off a fancy watch. Hair meticulously pulled back into a neat, dark bun on the back of his head. His pants look nice too, probably slacks or something? If she were willing to look down, she'd bet he has on dress shoes too. Too nice for this bar. Rachel herself is in a pair of denim shorts that stop just above her knees and a plain lavender t-shirt. Her beat up sneakers have seen better days. Her attire fits in perfectly with this place, though. There's lots of denim here, t-shirts, cowboy boots and sundresses. Not people dressed like they just came from a meeting.

He orders a screwdriver, which she can agree with. Just vodka and orange juice. It's often her drink of choice if she's not drinking her booze straight. Usually she'll just hit the bottle directly and call it good. Why waste time watering it down with juice when she can just chug a little of the bottle and get the same results faster? But she's out to socially drink, not get blackout drunk.

The bartender gets to his drink after shooting the two of them a look. It's fairly simple. A decent shot of vodka at the bottom, orange juice on top, and a good stir with a straw, and then it's set neatly on the bar in front of He returns his attention to her once the drink is in his hand.

"You seem very out of your element here. Don't go to bars often?"

She gives a firm shake of her head, causing her ponytail to sway. "Nope. I don't usually see the point in it. Why spend $40 on drinks at a bar when I could buy a decent bottle of something and just get drunk on my couch for much less? At least clothing would be optional there."

"My sentiments exactly. Bars are nice on rare occasions, but most of the time I'd rather be naked and drunk on my couch." He blinks slow, almost pointedly. "Naked is always better when drunk."

Well, if he wasn't before, he's definitely thinking of her naked now. She set herself up for that one though. Rachel faintly raises her glass. "Fuckin', here here. Can't do that now that I'm living at home again, but still. Sentiment still stands." She almost complains about drunk and naked getting her into trouble, but thinks better of it. 

He takes a moment and turns his attention to his screwdriver, taking a few long drinks of it. Rachel watches his Adam's apple bob as she swallows, faintly intrigued by the motions. The column of this throat rising, falling, rising again. He sets the glass down once half of the drink has been emptied. Glancing at the what's left, he mutters something to himself about not intending to have drank that much at once, but shrugs it off. With it back on the bar, he returns his gaze to her. She's given the longest once-over she's even endured in her life and tries not to shudder from the intensity of it.

"That's a lovely top you've got," he tells her, crossing his legs at the knee. "The color suits you well."

Rachel glances down at her shirt though she's seen it a thousand times. It's just a plain t-shirt. Her breasts aren't hanging out, there's no midriff on display. Collar around her collarbones, sleeves stopping halfway down her upper arms. Sure, lavender is definitely her color, but it's not that much of note.

She shrugs and returns to staring at her drink. "Thanks. I stole it from the lost and found at my friend's job."

The stranger snorts. "Lost and found is typically free game when it comes to non-valuables."

He brings his seat just a touch closer to hers when she takes a drink from her own glass. She's not being short with him on purpose. Rachel just... doesn't have a lot to say. Not a lot of words in her head. There's not a lot of responses she can muster to 'nice shirt'. It's just a fucking shirt. One that she did, in fact, steal from the lost and found at a friend's job. It's not a remarkable shirt, except for the barbecue sauce stain on the hem that's thankfully not visible in this light. Maybe if she were in a sundress or even a blouse, she would understand it. But- it belatedly clicks in her mind that he's been trying to flirt with her. Oh. Fuck, she's pretty oblivious.

He reaches behind himself and tugs at the back of his head until his ponytail holder comes loose. A mass of silky black hair flows down freely, easily reaching his lower back. Fuck, the dude has more hair than she does. The stranger glances at her as if he expects her to do the same, sliding the elastic band onto his wrist. Rachel briefly raises a brow. Her hair isn't coming down. She only takes it down when she's showering or sleeping. She in fact reaches back to tighten her ponytail, gently patting at the scrunchie to make sure it's still in place.

"So," he starts, setting the screwdriver back down. "You're a pretty young woman alone at the bar on a Friday night, who was staring blankly at a wall for quite a while there. Any particular reason?"

She makes an uncomfortable face, but he motions for her to go on. Well, he asked. "Do you want the whole sob story, or just the choice bits?" Rachel's look smooths out to perfectly indifferent, examining his face. He's got an equally as neutral expression.

He hums to himself. "Choice bits."

Finishing off the last of her drink, she gestures to the bartender for another. She might need it. "Let's see. My husband was very suddenly deployed, and died in an accident on base a few months later. I gave birth to our son a week after he died. Four months after that, my son died from SIDS. I've been too depressed to look at anything in my apartment, so I'm currently living in my childhood home again and thus lost most of my sense of independence." Rachel takes a drink from the new glass handed to her. "Oh, and I dance for a living. My son fucked up my hips and back on the way out though, so I may never be able to dance again. I felt like going out and having a drink might help my mood."

Once more, the stranger hums. He doesn't look fazed in the slightest with how detached she seems about her life going to shit. Rachel catches him nod out of the corner of her eye as she takes a gulp of the frozen drink.

"That does truly sound like you've had a shitty year." His shoulder lightly bumps hers.

"You're telling me."

He once more nods a little, reaching with his left hand to push back the hair falling loosely in his face. He takes a moment to down more of his own alcohol.

"Do forgive me if I'm wrong, but I presume you're out looking for a distraction tonight?" And there's the unmistakable brush of his right hand over her knee.

Rachel can't hold back her scoff. "Genuine question, not trying to be rude, but how old even are you?"

That seems to catch him off guard. A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth after a beat of silence, and she hopes it's genuine amusement. "First, how old do I look?"

"Thirty to thirty-five," she holds up a finger when he opens his mouth to speak, "but judging by the shapes of your wrinkles and the grays at your roots that haven't been dyed over yet, I'd have to say closer to forty-five or fifty."

"... Fifty-five, actually. You certainly know how to stroke someone's ego and backhand them in the same motion."

"So let me get this straight," Rachel says, turning on her stool. Her knee bumps into his as she comes to face him, something unreadable in her face. "You're trying to pick up a girl over half your age, who just told you that her husband and infant died within the last seven months. Correct?"

One of his brows goes up. He leans forward some, his hand once more brushing over her bare knee. His skin is warmer than her own. It admittedly feels nice. "People grieve in their own ways. You haven't shown any disinterest in my flirting this evening, though you did seem a little clueless at first. On that note, the sob story didn't cause _my_ interest in _you_ to wane in the slightest."

She tilts her head, looking over his expression. So he's after sex. Sex and most things sex-related aren't all that interesting to her. Masturbation is only good for the dopamine, not for the orgasm. Sex with her husband was nice, but she never went out of her way for it. Jay was the first- and only- person she's ever slept with, because it interests her so little. Rachel is a solitary woman who doesn't feel the need for close human contact, and sex is about as close of contact as you can get with another human. A friend called her asexual once, and it seems fitting. There's no need for it, very little want, but this stranger isn't incorrect. She's been interested in him, she absolutely would have sent him away if she didn't want the attention. Would it... Would it be so bad for her to go along with it and allow herself something out of the norm? Some change in pace? A dopamine rush could be nice.

This stranger isn't bad looking either. He's tall, he's pretty, and he looks like he may have muscles hiding under his attire. Definitely too old for her, but he would be (will be?) a one-night-stand, not someone she'd bring home to her mom. Sex isn't that interesting, but the thought of having someone getting her off and saving her the trouble of doing it herself isn't that bad of a deal. He's right. 

Conceding, she nods a little. "You're right."

His hand comes to rest fully on her knee and when he gives an inquisitive head tilt, his hair falls over his shoulder. "So you're interested?"

She shrugs a little. "I'm about as interested as I can be. It's obvious what you're after, but that's still kinda vague."

The stranger looks her over for a moment, idly drumming his fingers on her knee as he thinks. Rachel imagines it looks like a scene from a movie. Handsome older man leaning forward to whisper mysterious words into the young woman's ear, leaving the audience knowing what the gist of the idea is, but no words truly being heard. But it's not a movie, and Rachel can hear every single word he's murmuring over the noise in the bar.

The stranger gives Rachel every vivid detail and doesn't hold back. He tells her in a low, even voice exactly what he's going to do. Not what he wants, but what he's _assuredly_ going to do to her. He's going to strip her down to nothing, get his mouth between her thighs and eat her out until she's wet enough that it's running down his chin. Once she's good and soaked, he's going to turn her around and bend her over the edge of his bed and fuck her from behind, alternating between gentle and merciless. She's going to get off, he assures her as he lightly strokes her knee, as many times as she's able to. He'll personally see to that. And once her legs are too weak to support her anymore, when she's shaking too hard to keep herself upright, he's going to turn her around, throw her onto his bed, and have his fill of her until it's his turn to finish. He's only going to have mercy on her if she _begs_ for it.

The stranger leans away, still keeping his face close to hers. He briefly squeezes her knee. Up this close, Rachel can see how large his pupils are, nearly overtaking his brown irises. "Does that still interest you?"

Rachel finds herself shifting on the stool, holding her thighs tighter together as heat begins to pool between them. It's more than she was expecting. He was... _very_ vivid with his description and it's not _anything_ she's used to. 

Her husband was a rather vanilla man when it came to sex. Missionary was commonplace and rarely deviated from. The only other position that they engaged in was also missionary, but with her legs over Jay's shoulders. Oral was only given briefly between the two of them, purely for the sake of getting the other aroused as opposed to causing an orgasm. He certainly never offered to bend her over the furniture and fuck her into incoherency. The most bold thing they'd ever done was fuck on the couch shortly before his deployment. Jay never really played with her body or teased her. He didn't dirty talk. Never left any hickies. He never pulled her hair or slapped her ass, never tried any of the things that she'd suggested she may have been into. Definitely never got her turned on just by touching her fucking knee.

Thinking on it now, Rachel realizes there was never much in it for her. She only got an orgasm if she took the initiative and rubbed one out before he came. Sex was routine. Lay down for bed, have a few lingering kisses, minor amounts of foreplay, penetration, completion, and sleep. Fuck, even the days they had sex were set up on a routine. Thrice a week, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, every time. Never more than once a day. Sex rarely broke from the routine that Jay set. Foreplay was the usual fumbling with her nipples or clit, or the barest amount of oral when that didn't work. He never listened to her suggestions. The few times he'd sucked her nipples in the past had been _grand_, but he never did it for her when she asked. While uninterested in sex for the most part, she can't deny that her late husband's lack of care for her pleasure put a damper on what little desire she felt for it.

What this stranger has proposed... it's tempting. Rachel finds herself, very uncharacteristically, wanting what he's just offered her. She wants to be eaten out until she's made a mess of his face. She wants to get fucked bent over something. She wants someone else to get her off for once, _more_ than once. She wants someone to mercilessly use her body for their pleasure, but only after ensuring that she's gotten hers first.

She's been quiet for too long. One of his sharp, dark brows cocks upward as he gives her knee another squeeze, and he asks, "Well?"

"Yes."

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. The motion exposes the sharp point of a canine, and she briefly wonders what it's going to feel like when he bites into her neck. Does she even want that? Fuck it, who knows. What she wants is the distraction that he's promising her.

"I don't have much experience," Rachel tells him, letting her thigh muscles relax. "But, I will likely have a few requests in there that I expect to be fulfilled."

"But of course." Releasing her knee, he takes his glass and finishes it in two swallows. He seems more than satisfied that she's agreeing to this. "I believe I'm ready whenever you are."

Rachel leaves a small fold of bills for the bartender under her abandoned, mostly full drink.

A week later, Rachel is half-asleep on the couch, watching some stupid WWII show that she's seen at least four other times. It wasn't interesting the first time, and it's not interesting now, but it's the only thing that's on and can even vaguely keep her attention. She'd put on Animal Planet, but it only plays trashy bullshit these days. 

She's mostly dozed off when she hears a car door slam outside, followed by silence and then another door slamming. Fuck. Mom's home. Rachel blinks hard, trying to focus in on the TV. Judging by what's on screen, she's been dozing for at least twenty minutes now. A key jiggles in the lock, and a moment later the door pops open.

It's indeed Mom, and she's got groceries. She closes the door behind herself however, which mercifully means Rachel doesn't have to get up and help bring anything in. She gives her mother a grunt of greeting.

"Hello to you too, sunshine. It's been days since I've seen you." Mom gives her a warm smile.

"Been sleeping," Rachel mutters, rubbing her eyes. It's half the truth. She's also been abusing her vibrator and pulling up memories of that night her and the stranger shared. But her interest has finally reached its end, and she's back to her usual indifference towards what's between her legs.

"I know, honey. But you moved out here, so that much mean you're feeling a little better."

Once more, Rachel grunts. She won't deny that she's feeling a touch better, but she won't confirm it either.

Mom has stopped in front of the TV, looking down at Rachel with a mix of emotions on her face. Love, pity, and what appears to be apprehension. She shifts, trying to balance the shopping bags. Rachel's got half a mind to tell her mother to move out of the way of the TV, but Mom swallows and opens her mouth to speak.

"So, I have some news."

News? That's never good. Is Mom's brother sick? Did Mom decide to finally pick up a fucking day job and stop meddling in Rachel's personal life? She's been seeing a guy lately, are they getting married entirely too quickly? Oh fuck, is she-?

Scowling, Rachel tells her, "If you're pregnant, I'm moving back out and you can't have any of my son's baby stuff."

"Oh fuck no," Mom says, letting out a borderline hysterical laugh. She finally moves out from in front of the TV, heading back towards the kitchen. "I'm one and done with kids. You're it. Also, I'm almost fucking _fifty_."

Rachel blinks at the TV, trying to keep her heavy lids from falling closed. "Wasn't you mom fifty-two when she had you?"

"That's beside the point, you shit. Anyway, my news is that I got in contact with your father a few days ago."

"Congrats."

She can't see it, but she can sense that Mom is nodding. "I felt it was time to tell him. I tracked his number down through a mutual friend and sent him a message basically being like 'hey it's Renee, I know it's been over two decades since we had a nasty, ugly break-up but I have some shit to talk to you about'. So we met up two days ago and talked. We caught up, did the usual awkward pleasantries, yadda yadda. Eventually, I came clean and told him that you existed and that I would have told him sooner, but he disappeared. And then life happened, and... y'know."

Rachel shrugs. She's perfectly indifferent to the situation and has nothing of value to add. Mom takes the silence as her cue to go on.

"He was... okay with it? He dealt way better with the news than I thought he would. Didn't freak out or anything."

"I'm old enough that he doesn't have to worry about child support."

She presumes there's nothing that immediately needs put away in the grocery bags, because from the sound of it, Mom abandons the bags on the kitchen floor and comes back into the living room. Glancing up, she finds Mom giving her a Look. It's one of those looks that Rachel knows well. She's seen it when trying to skip school or get out of doctors appointments, or when she didn't want to audition for the ballet that have Rachel the breakthrough in her career.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Mom loosely puts a hand on her hip. "I want you to meet him."

Oh. "Ma, I've gone twenty-two years without a father. I don't think I need one now."

Mom rolls her eyes and comes around the coffee table. She shoves Rachel's feet out of the way so she can sit on the couch as well, letting Rachel use her as a footrest once she's seated. "I didn't say you need a father, Rachel. All I'm saying is that I'd like the two of you to meet sometime. You're both very similar."

"That's cool and all Mom, really. But I've got you, a handful of close friends, an aunt, an uncle, and seven fucking cousins. I've been married, I've had a kid, and I have a career. I don't need to add anything or anyone else into the mix. Especially not an absent father that ghosted you when you tried to tell him he knocked you up."

"He thought I was lying to get him to stay, since I wasn't supposed to be able to have kids. He acknowledged that he fucked up and apologized for it." Mom shakes her head, then pulls her phone out. "Anyway, I got a few pictures of him to show you."

"Ma. I'm really not interested."

Ignoring her, Mom flicks through her photo gallery until she finds one that's satisfactory. "Here."

Somehow, Rachel managed to keep her expression neutral as she's faced with a photo of the stranger from the bar. The very stranger she went home with. The stranger she never exchanged names with, the stranger that teased and fucked her for a solid three hours.

"This is Leo," Mom supplies. "Reason I had such a hard time finding him when you were a kid was because he changed his name and moved. He started a few businesses in his new city, but he moved back about a decade ago when he made it big."

It's a struggle, but Rachel keeps her breathing slow and even while her heart races in her chest. He's undoubtedly the stranger she went home with. Jesus fucking Christ.

"I showed him a picture of you, actually, from your last performance? Before you got too big with the baby to dance." She sits up a little, looking amused. "He got all quiet and grumbly and said you look nothing like him."

"I bet he did."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck _fuck_. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slow.

"This is a lot to take in, honestly," Rachel says, getting to her feet. She staggers towards the other end of the house. "I'm gonna go finish my nap in my room."

Mom sounds concerned, but doesn't try to stop her. "Alright honey. I'm sorry if I upset you, that wasn't my intention."

"You didn't do anything, Ma."

Once locked in her room, Rachel presses her back to the wall and slides to the floor. Her heart beats hard enough that she can hear it pulsing in her ears, her breathing refusing to slow. Jesus fucking Christ. She went home with him. She kissed him. She let him fuck her. They exchanged bodily fluids. He fucking came in her _unprotected_.

"Fuck," she says out loud. "_Fuck_."

Mom's going to make them meet face to face eventually, and Rachel doesn't know how she's going to handle that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry


	2. Promises, promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What exactly he whispered to her at the bar. Was originally going to be the full sex scene, but I got hella fucking lazy.

Finally, after several teasing brushes, Leo lets his palm rest flat on her knee and she doesn't stop him. Her skin is chilled, though it starts warming immediately. The woman's tight-lipped expression hasn't changed but he's got an inkling that's just her resting face.

Leo cocks his head a bit. His recently freed hair falls over his shoulder with the motion. "So you're interested?"

She loosely rolls one of her shoulders. A pair of startlingly green eyes look into his as she tells him, "I'm about as interested as I can be. It's obvious what you're after, but that's still kinda vague."

_Vague_? He absently drums his fingers on her knee as he thinks about how to respond to that. She knows he's angling for sex. What about that is even _remotely_ vague? Well, then again, she's been a little oblivious this evening if he's being honest. He saw it the moment it clicked in her mind that he's been flirting with her pretty much since he sat down. Does he need to spell it out for her? Does she need him to give a play-by-play? Lay it out with dirty talk? Leo can do that.

The woman turns her head to the side just slightly as he leans in, anticipating his move. Leo brings his mouth close to her ear, focusing in on a stray brown curl of hers that's too short to make it into her ponytail.

"This is what's going to happen," Leo starts, keeping his voice low. Loud enough that she can hear him over the bar, but quiet enough that only her ears will catch it. "I'm not telling you what I _want_, I'm telling you what will _most assuredly_ happen if you take my offer and come home with me tonight.

"First, I'm going to strip you out of every bit of your clothing. I'm going to touch every inch of you, see how your body feels under my hands, see how soft you are and learn what your curves feel like. Then, I'm going to lay you back on the edge on my bed and eat you out. I'll give you some fingers as well, if I'm feeling kind. I'm going to take my sweet fucking time learning just what feels good for you and then bring you to the edge, but I'm not going to let you finish. I'll bring you right to the brink of an orgasm over and over, but I won't let you have it. I'm going to keep going until my lips and tongue have gone numb. In fact, I'm going to keep going until you're so wet that it's running down my chin. You will be literally _dripping_ by the time I decide I'm finished.

"After that, I'm going to turn you over, lean you over the side of my bed, and I'm going to fuck you from behind. That angle specifically, so that I can watch every inch of myself slide into your body, and I'm going to do it slow so that you feel _every inch_. I'll take it easy, be kind, but I'm not going to stop until you've taken every bit of me. When I've got my hips firmly against your ass, once there's nothing left for me to press into you, I'm going to fuck you. I'm not going to treat you like a blushing, inexperienced virgin. _I'm going to fuck you_.

"I'll be gentle at first. I'll let you adjust to me, let you think I intend to fuck you like a lover. And once you've adjusted, when you can take all eight inches with ease and you're well and truly enjoying, I'm going to ravage you. I'm going to fuck you so hard that you scream. You're going to have bruises in the shape of my fingers on your hips from how hard I hold you, and some in the shape of my hipbones on your ass from how hard I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to keep going until you can't catch your breath, until you can't do anything but cry out for mercy. Then I'll slow... slower still... and go back to fucking you like a lover. And once you've caught your breath, then I'll go back to hard and rough. And then gentle. Rough. Gentle. And I'll keep up like that for as long as it takes."

Leo swallows. Thank fuck he's sitting, otherwise his erection would be beyond noticeable. Instead of kissing at her neck like he'd do to most other women, he settles for lightly stroking her knee while he thinks. He's not done yet. She shivers, and he feels the goosebumps rise under his fingertips.

"You're going to get off, too. As many time as you'd like, as many times as you're able to. I'll personally see to it that you get more than enough. I'm incredibly good at multitasking. I can play with one of your breasts while I tease your clit, maybe put fingers elsewhere if that's what you want. We could take a brief break long enough for me to suck your nipples, maybe, if that's what it'll take to get you there. You're going to finish at least once, no matter how long it takes me. And I'll be fucking you through every bit of your orgasm. I'm going to enjoy seeing you finish, not to mention enjoy feeling you tighten down around me.

"But you're going to get tired, eventually. Your legs are going to be shaking, your thighs are going to ache and it's going to be hard to stand. You aren't going to be able to support your own weight anymore, not even with me holding you up. I'll have mercy then. I'll throw you onto the bed and touch you all over, let you get comfortable. I'll rub those achy, trembling thighs of yours. I'll spread you back open, and perhaps I'll bring you off with my tongue, finally. But once you've had a moment to recover, I'm going to go all in. I'm going to get _my_ fill. My ruthlessness before will look like nothing. I'm going to come out of this with your teeth marks on my shoulders, claw marks down my back, your throat raw from crying out from just how hard I'm going to give it to you.

"The only way I'm going to relent is if you beg for mercy. And I mean it when I say _beg_. The only way I'm going to stop is if I'm thoroughly convinced that you can't take anymore from me. Otherwise, you're going to take it. I'm going to fuck you like no one's ever fucked you before, and you're going to want every goddamn minute of it. Even when you fell like it's too much, you're going to love it.

"It won't take me too long to cum by that point. You may not even need to plea for mercy. Regardless, I'm going to hold you hard enough to leave more bruises and I'm going to fuck you until I lose myself. I'll hold you close like a lover and fuck you like anything but, and just when you think you can't take anymore of it, I'm going to cum. I'm going to give you every last drop, and you're going to enjoy every bit of it. You're going to _want_ every bit of it."

Leo leans back, purposefully keeping his face near hers. Her pupils are much larger than when he started speaking, her pulse quickened if the thrumming under her skin on the side of her neck is a tell. If he thought she was the type to accept it, he'd press a kiss to her lips as a tease.

"Does that still interest you?" he asks, voice still low.

The woman stares back at him, unconsciously biting at the inside of her lip. She shifts in her seat, her thighs tensing. It turned her on at the very least. He knows what that particular clench looks like. Her skin is still goosebumped under his touch, and he feels her suppress a shiver.

She's thinking. Processing his words. But she's taking too long, and after thirty seconds pass in full silence, he raises a brow and gives her knee a light squeeze. "Well?"

A beat of silence passes, then- "Yes."

The corner of his mouth curls into a smile, and he lightly strokes at her knee. Fantastic. Less than half an hour, and he's already got a pretty young woman agreeing to keep his sheets warm tonight. This sounds wonderful. He's going to enjoy fulfilling every single thing he promised to her.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a good deal of this while siting at my job and my partner's job. I am. Probably a bad person for that.
> 
> Anyhow! I have absolutely no fucking idea what made me write this abomination nor any clue where the idea came from, but it's here and you all have to suffer with me! So uh. Hope you guys enjoyed? Or not? I don't know what gets your rocks off and I ain't here to judge.
> 
> I'm always super appreciative of comments and kudos, it's great to hear from you folks!
> 
> I have [my blog](http://iwillpooponthefloor.tumblr.com) on tumblr, if you'd like to check that out, though it's mostly unrelated content. I'm not active much on there, but I'll get back to you if you message me!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
